


respark the soul

by cuspAbandon (nilchance)



Series: moral victories [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Amnesia, Multi, Post-Game AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/cuspAbandon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the last hours of the game, Karkat kills Gamzee.</p><p>After the game, Karkat hides out in a trailer by the sea and decides if he can live with what he's done. He's almost come to terms with it. </p><p>And then Gamzee washes up on shore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	respark the soul

The beach is empty and gray. The water is bitter cold and the rocks cut human feet. Fishing turns up empty hooks or the occasional plastic bag. The sea is pitiless of mistakes, and the currents apparently exist to knock drunks off their feet. The wind howls so loud that the whole town thinks the place is haunted. Not even the stupid human interesting haunted. People flinch when they step on to the sands, even the teenagers and the tourists, and they get out fast.

They should. The game gave it to Karkat, after all. Every second of peace and quiet, every inch of deserted beach is his reward. The money he gave back, the health he could do without, but he likes the privacy.

He sits on the rocks and watches the scummy waves knock trash against the shore. He digs into his takeout. Every day he thinks about tossing the empty containers out into the water, and every day he doesn't because he decides he'll do it tomorrow. There are no seadwellers out in the deeps to cull him for it, but sweeps of school-feeding don't leave his pan.

His hip hurts from pressing into the cold rocks. It'll hurt bad tonight, but maybe that'll keep him awake. The library got more movies in. Even with their stunted titles and their human actors, Earth movies are all right. He's not going to tell John that, though.

Not that he's talking to John. Not that he's talking to any of them.

(Stupid hip. Stupid clubs. Stupid clown.)

He digs his fork harder into the food until he hears it scrape plastic. Before sauce can drip onto him, he drops the mostly full container onto the rocks. He stares at it, sour.

(Stupid shitty human plastic. Stupid shitty human food.)

As if summoned by the mention of stupidity, there's the clickity-click of claws on the rocks. The first time, he'd nearly snapped his neck to look because he'd thought pathetically that it'd be his lusus. Now he nudges the food towards the hovering barkbeast.

"You might as well eat it, you failure."

The barkbeast comes over and whuffles over Karkat's fingers like she's thinking about eating his hand instead. He shoves at her side, then grudgingly thumps her on the ribs. "You're not _my_ barkbeast. Don't get used to this."

Satisfied in whatever obscure barkbeast way, she lowers her head to devour the food. He glances her over, automatically checking her fur for blood, but he's only found it the first time. She's a smart beast in her feral way, stays on the beach where it's just the two of them.

Not that there's a them.

Because she's not his barkbeast. Still not a thing that's happening. Even if he makes sure to mention her to Dave so that in case of his own mysterious and horrible death, somebody knows to feed her dumb ass so she doesn't starve like the hopeless wreck she is.

"Dave will probably name you DJ Hotdog or something similarly ridiculous. Terezi will dress you up like a dragon and pretend you're one of those barkbeasts they give to blind humans. Which is inane. Seriously, what's so great about feeding something and cleaning up their shit? Does this make them magically not blind? Their canes don't even have swords in them. Humans are bullshit."

The barkbeast yawns.

"Yeah, that's what I said."

There are darker clouds rolling in over the water. Karkat has never lived by water his entire life, but in the few perigrees he's been on this beach in his dented trailer, he knows about storms. Mostly he knows to drive off the beach where it floods and onto the streets where it doesn't.

Humans in town leave him alone. They don't see horns or gray skin, just whatever protective filter the game shows them. Plus they think he came back from some war that made him shithive maggots.

He looks at the barkbeast, who is inching closer like she's going to try cuddling him again. Then he sighs, gathers up his trash, and says, "C'mon, dumbass, you can sleep in the trailer so you don't drown."

She squirms around, the remains of her tail whipping from side to side. It doesn't help him get back to his feet, but whatever, let her think she's giving invaluable support.

The first step hurts like ground up glass inside his hip joint. He curses, balancing on one foot and then limping forward. With every lurch, he remembers

( _stay down, motherfucker, you don't die for them what won't die for you_ )

and then he's walking as well as he ever can these days. The barkbeast trots behind him to the trailer. When he opens the door, she bounds right in like she owns the place.

"You're supposed to be invited in, you uncivilized hairball," he tells her, and tosses the trash into its bin. Which is on the stove. Because see again, uncivilized hairballs. "Fuck, if I wanted to put up with this I'd live with Harley. Hey, get off the fucking couch!"

She does not get off the fucking couch. She hooks her chin over the arm and gives him the eyes. He growls, then comes over and shoves her onto her side of the couch. "Fine, but just because you appreciate the dramatic side of Adam Sandler. You're smarter than most humans that way. That's a compliment, don't let it go to your head. It will be revoked when you try to steal the blankets."

He turns the TV on. They're in the middle of Parks and Recreation. April and Andy have one of the most unappreciated romances of all time. As she inches over towards him for stealth cuddles, he picks up his husktop.

There are several windows blinking at him (what the fuck, what part of leaving didn't they get?) but only three he bothers to answer. Sollux, because if he sends chat windows and they get ignored he starts running audio loops of crying human wigglers until Karkat answers him. The other two, he's pailed.

Dave has left him twenty lines of X-rated rap about Harry Potter. Karkat critiques it line by line, starting with the terrible assumption that Terezi would be in Gryffindor with Dave when she is obviously a Slytherin. Anyone with two working brain cells to knock together like the testicles on the last man on Earth would realize that Terezi is defined by her ambition. Okay, and her intelligence, she'd be good for Ravenclaw too, but Gryffindor? Over Karkat's dead and rotting corpse. Also Dave is a Hufflepuff, but that's beside the point.

TG: so when are you coming back

Karkat hesitates mid-rant about how he doesn't just want Terezi in his house, this is about _integrity_.

TG: i'm not saying we can figure out a quadrant thing and if you come back with a shipping grid i am setting it on fire and sending you the vine  
TG: but terezi's cool with it and i'm cool with it  
TG: we were never uncool with it  
TG: we can get a bed  
TG: i call racecar bed  
TG: wait fuck do those even make those in king size  
TG: that'll be an awkward question at walmart  
TG: how many teenagers can i fit in this bed good sir  
TG: well how old are they son  
TG: six  
TG: bail me out k  
TG: there's your romance

CG: QUADRANTS DON'T MATTER ANYMORE.

He closes the laptop. In less time than it takes to go to a commercial break that's not even relevant on Netflix, the phone they insisted he take with him starts ringing. He doesn't have to look to know it's a Houston number. The barkbeast cocks her ear at it, then at him when he doesn't move to pick it up.

"Yeah, I'm an asshole," he says. "Tell me what I don't know."  
***  
He dreams about the stink of sulfur, the sickle in his sweating hand, the sound of the club shattering his hip in his socket. He dreams of the blood gloving his hands and the sun through the leaves and the shape Gamzee’s fingers made the last time. Half of a diamond washed with blood.

Karkat turned away from him, and he dreams he’s still turning. Every dream he is turning and turning, his fists too clenched to hold anything he wants to keep.  
***  
After the storm, the air is clean and electric. Karkat opens the door to release the barkbeast, who trots towards the rocks. He stays there for a minute, breathing deep. Against his will, he thinks of Egbert. Missing him is a dull broken-bone throb.

Fuck, he misses all of them. Every last idiot, including Eridan, may his bulge rot off.

He can’t go back yet. First he has to decide if he wants to live.

Water still leaks through the seams of the rocks, making the seaweed and dead fish shiver like living things. The barkbeast splashes happily through the mess.

“Hey!” he snarls, “I am not shoving your stinking carcass under the shower again because you’re too useless to stay out of the corpse water. This is your food source warning you!”

The barkbeast wags, and then dips her head to snuffle at the seaweed. She’s going to roll in it, he can see this coming like he’s Lalonde. Next thing he knows he’ll be in a dress, full of snarky broad horseshit.

“You stinking dumbass dog,” he mutters, and stumps down the steps. Impact needles at his hip. For a second he thinks about going back for the cane. Good thing he ignores his smarter impulses.

The wind left rills of sand like fingerprints. Karkat studies them. Sometimes it’s difficult to accept that the small beauties of Earth don’t have savage teeth like Alternia. He still thinks of sand worms, zombies, sea monsters. He wonders whose soft heart defanged the post-game world they created. He’d have thought the humans, but he sees how they seem to chafe at the padded walls of their safety. The only human content with what they lost is English, and he thinks that’s because English is pan-damaged by trauma.

(Nobody says as much of English, but then nobody says Karkat has gone shithive maggots either.)

The barkbeast raises snout and howls. It is an eerie sound from her in particular, who makes no normal barkbeast noises except for the huff of her breaths. Karkat drops a hand to his missing sickle, curses, and goes towards her.

She turns her face towards him. At her paws, he sees that the seaweed is not seaweed at all. It’s hair.

There is a human face-down in a nimbus of bloody water. Karkat shoves them onto their side and presses his fingers to the pulsing vein in their neck. Their pusher is beating, at least. Their face is mostly concealed by blood and a great mass of matted black hair. Mouth purple with cold and choking. When Karkat thumps them between sharp shoulders, water gushes out their mouth.

“That’s completely disgusting,” Karkat tells them, and thumps harder. “Well, come on, keep going, you have successfully revolted me but if you really try I’m sure you can make me vomit. Come on, now.”

The human sputters a last few gallons of seawater and then takes great whooping gasps. They claw at the gritty sand, starting to shiver.

“Congratulations, fuckstick, you have mastered breathing.” Karkat keeps thumping, just in case, and peels off his sweater. He’s still got a shirt on under it, and humans tend to be fragile. “Here.”

The human shakes their head like a sopping barkbeast, spraying water. Beneath the shroud of hair, there’s a pointy chin with stubble. His eyes fix on Karkat’s face, blue so dark it’s almost black.

“You’re all right,” Karkat growls at him, and shoves the sweater into his hands. “Put it on.”

The human clutches it to his chest, wary. One of his hand trembles.

“Are you deaf? Put the thing over-- oh, for fuck’s sake.” Karkat takes the sweater back (the human lets him) and pulls the neck wide so it won’t catch on the head-wound. Then he shoves it over the human’s head.

At least then the dumb fucker catches on, sticking one arm through its hole. The arm that tremors stays by his side, but it’s better than nothing.

The human clears his throat. His voice is all saltwater scratch, barely audible. “Where is this?”

“Maine. Uh, Jonesport Harmony. Stupid name, but they didn’t ask me. Where’d you fall in?”

The human starts to shake his head, then winces. “Don’ remember.”

Karkat grunts. Is this one of the times humans go to hospitals? Strider wouldn’t, but Strider is an idiot. Karkat wouldn’t, but he’s a troll _and_ an idiot. The human looks pathetic and sounds worse. He hedges his bets. “You want me to call somebody for you?”

The human makes a sound, a coughing almost-laugh. A burst of noise. “Don’t remember that, neither.”

Karkat leans down to look the human in the eyes. One pupil is bigger than the other, which is significant of some human medical thing. “You remember anything?”

The human’s tension breaks, and he smiles. His teeth are white and his mouth is wide. Deep uneasiness rises in Karkat like a belch from the horrorterrors.

“You saving my life just now,” the human says. “That, I up and remember.”

Slowly, as if in a nightmare, Karkat pushes the human’s hair out of the way. The human blinks at him, mild, and lets him. There are three scars across his face.

“Thanks, brother,” Gamzee says, and smiles.

Karkat flips the fuck out.


End file.
